


we can light a match (and burn it down)

by anna_kat



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, hydra simmons, hydra!biospecialist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2452223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anna_kat/pseuds/anna_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He can practically hear the roll of her eyes, and he doesn’t even care when some of the guys give him crap for being eternally enthralled with Jemma Simmons, because <strong>how could you not be?</strong></em>
</p><p>Requested HYDRA!WardxSimmons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we can light a match (and burn it down)

**Author's Note:**

> For Chelsea and two different anonymous friends.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like it did. That was pretty obvious. People need to stop underestimating Coulson’s team, Grant thinks as he makes his way into the compound behind Garrett. It messes things up.

They’ve barely made it inside when one of the lower level agents Grant recognizes from the Hub comes up to him with a cell phone. “Uh, Ward, your girl’s on the phone. She’s asking for you.”

He rolls his eyes, ignoring the slightly smug grin Garrett is throwing him and taking the phone. “You better hope she didn’t hear you call her that, Andrews.”

The man’s face pales a bit, which sends a spark of pride through Grant. “Last guy that called her ‘Ward’s girl’,” Garrett says, walking away from them, “Ended up in traction.”

Andrews narrows his eyes at Grant for a moment like he’s sure they’re pulling his leg. Grant just shrugs. “His name’s Dan Walker. Works on tech crap now. You can ask him.”

Thrusting the phone into Grant’s hand and taking off in the opposite direction, Andrews now looks a little green. Grinning, Grant raises the phone to his ear.

“I don’t like when people call me that. And Walker deserved it.” The cool, accented words drift through the device and wrap around him. He breathes deeply, feeling some of the day’s tensions dissolve. “I don’t belong to you, you know.”

“I know.”

It’s quiet for a moment, her footsteps and breathing the only sounds until she stops moving and he hears the _snick_ of a door sliding shut. “ _You_ belong to _me_.” Those words come to him with a curving grin etched into them.

He heads for the hallway on his left, grinning too. “Of course I do.”

“Good boy.” She very nearly purrs, her voice dropping away for a moment like maybe she’s heard something. “You and Garrett got back safe, then? Did anyone check your injuries?”

Nodding at a few people he passes, he waits to answer until there’s a little less foot traffic. “What, you worried?”

He can practically hear the roll of her eyes, and he doesn’t even care when some of the guys give him crap for being eternally enthralled with Jemma Simmons, because _how could you not be?_

“I tend to appreciate it when my toys stay in one piece.” She says simply.

“Have more than one, Simmons?”

There’s a pause, some crackling static. “Not for awhile now.” The words come out different, quieter, like he’s slipped his fingers beneath a crack in her exterior and pried it away to see inside for just a moment.

He knows better than to mention it, knows bringing it to attention will only make her shut it back in and step away. She wears sharp words and threats of violence like armor.

“I’ll get checked out by the doctors.” He promises carefully, slipping into his pod and shutting the door behind him.

He’s seen her with bloody wounds and bloody hands, with broken bones and breaking them. He’s seen her after she’s been tortured and before she goes to bed, in street clothes, in lab clothes, in a hazmat suit, in tac gear, in no clothes at all. He’s had her above him and below him. (Though the former is more common than the latter, if he’s being honest.)

He’s never seen her cry in anything other than physical pain. He’s never heard her confess to being anything less than in complete control. She’s running or assisting half of this operation, and she doesn’t really do emotions. But when she asks about him sometimes, he thinks he can hear worry and care seeping into her words ever-so-slowly.

It makes him happy and irritated. They don’t have room for those things. She taught him that.

“They never do quite as thorough a job as you do, though.” He snickers, trying to get them back on some kind of track he’s familiar with.

She scoffs a laugh. “I’m sure they don’t.” The door on her end of the line clicks open again, and he tenses for her. He wonders how she’s even managed to contact him without anyone knowing. “Oh, hello, Fitz. I’m just trying to get in contact with someone at the Academy. I hope they’re alright, it seemed rather chaotic when I spoke with Agent Weaver earlier.”

Suddenly she’s back to being Coulson’s biochemist, sweet and caring and hopeful and maybe a little sad at what she’s supposed to have lost. It impresses him how little like herself she sounds.

He’s only sure Fitz has left her alone when her voice returns in his ear, lower and with an edge that sends shivers down his spine. “Because I know what you like, Grant Ward.”

Deeply enthralled.

Weeks later, when she makes her way into the compound with a handful of other agents, she looks practically giddy. He wonders what kind of state she left the team in, if she finally got to take on the Cavalry like she’s always wanted to do, if she put them all down quickly and efficiently or if she left them crippled by yet another betrayal.

He’ll ask later.

She’s speaking quietly with Garrett, and he leaves them be for a few minutes before interrupting.

“Ah, Ward, I’m surprised it took you this long to come and find her.” Garrett grins. “Good thing you’re here, though. Someone’s gotta take her down to medical before she collapses. God knows she won’t go on her own.”

He notices then that she’s bleeding heavily from her shoulder and a dark bruise is blooming from beneath her shirt, spreading along her collarbone. She just grins up at him.

“Let’s go.” He says, nudging her lightly into motion.

She doesn’t mind, starts making her way down the hallway. After a left turn and then a right, they’re alone, and she starts walking backwards so she can look up at his face. “I’ve got plans for you tonight, Agent Ward.”

He figured she might, since she almost always does. He can practically taste her skin already, feel the delicate slopes of her collarbone beneath his teeth as he leaves a new bruise alongside the one she’s already developed. She’ll leave marks too, like she always does. (He wears them proudly.)

He eyes her shoulder for a moment. “Sure about that?”

The look he receives as she sways her hips is answer enough. “Today was a very good day.” She’s covered in blood and scrapes and bruises, hair a wild tangle and eyes swirling with something dark and hot that makes his stomach twist pleasantly. He knows what she’s going to say before she says it. “And I know what you like, Grant Ward.”


End file.
